Pareidolia
by Indy'sEndymion
Summary: There's a new break on an old case of Peter's; Helps explain Neal's history with his father, his dislike for guns, and how he became a confidence man to begin with. Warnings for child sexual and physical abuse nothing in graphic detail ; no m/m slash; rated M for mature themes and situations.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own "White Collar". That privilege belongs to Jeff Eastin and the USA Network.**

Pareidolia

_Prologue_

Neal Caffrey smiled as he sat down at a bench in Thomas Paine park. The young man was dressed to the nines, as usual, on this particular Thursday morning. It was early – only 6:30, and the street was just beginning to really come alive. His smile grew brighter and showed the twinkle of the devil in it when he caught eyes with a beautiful redhead. She walked past him and glanced back, grinning at his stunning visage. Neal checked his luxurious A. Lange Sohne timepiece and sipped his coffee before looking up at the swaying of tree branches. It was autumn and the leaves were just starting to change, but still the wind was warm and it was a sunny day.

Past the golden and red leaves he saw a single cloud in the sky – to his delight it looked exactly like a face with a friendly smile. Neal checked his watch one more time and decided it was time to head to the office. Peter wanted the team there early because apparently there was a break in an old case and he wanted to get a jump on it. Neal stood up, straightened his suit, and started walking along Worth street towards the Federal Plaza. It was turning out to be a good day already.


	2. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

Upon arriving at the office, Neal straightened his tie and entered. To his surprise, and despite the early hour, he was the last to arrive. Peter, Diana, Jones, and several agents he didn't recognize were already in the transparent room. They were passing around a photo which looked to be from a security camera.

"Hi Neal, take a seat and let's get started." Peter said. Neal sat down and nodded, and Peter continued, "Okay so we have a new break in an old case that I worked when I was just out of the Academy. I was working in Violent Crimes and we came across a case of child prostitution. Unfortunately, all we had to go on was this photo with an anonymous tip telling us that this child was being forced to prostitute. The CACU – Crimes Against Children Unit - which is now a specialized force in Violent Crimes, came across some new evidence that the bastard who pimped this kid is still around and at it. We're being asked to help because I had the original ca –"

Peter stopped mid-sentence and all eyes turned to Neal: he was trying to hold the photo in his hands but they were shaking – badly. His face had gone pale and his breathing shallow, and his usual brilliant blue eyes began to glaze over.

"Neal…" Peter started with concern, "you don't look so good, buddy. What's wrong? Do you know the boy in the picture?"

It was apparent to everyone in the room that Neal knew the kid or somehow had a connection. But Neal didn't answer Peter. He couldn't speak. He simply looked up at Peter and with dead eyes, he tore the photo in two. Diana and Jones exchanged perturbed looks. The other agents had confusion in their eyes. And Peter didn't take his off of Neal as the younger man let the two rendered pieces fall from his hands to the floor and walk with his head down out of the office.


	3. Chapter Two

**Hello, to everyone who has read this chapter before today (21st of January, 2012), I have decided to revise it slightly so please read again. I formerly had Neal cheating on Sarah with the Dessa character but I changed this because I like to stick close to how the characters are on the show and I think I remember Neal saying something about how he was a "one woman man", or something to that effect. I don't really like the Sarah character very much so I'm still not too charitable towards her. (I'm sorry but I think she's really annoying and that she and Neal have no chemistry. I was a Kate fan even though Kate and Neal didn't have much chemistry either. My favorite woman for Neal is Alex – she and Neal (or rather, the actors) sizzle onscreen!) **

_Chapter Two_

_(Revised on 21 January, 2012)_

Neal walked towards the exit doors of the Federal Plaza, head still low and shoulders uncharacteristically drooped. He pushed open the doors and looked up at the sky. The same cloud he'd seen just minutes before was staring back at him, only this time instead of looking like a happy-smiling-cloud, it looked malicious and domineering. Neal broke out at a dead sprint for his apartment. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed the only number he could think of. "Dessa? Des are you there?"

"Cameron - ?" The woman on the other end of the phone answered.

"Yeah can you meet me at my place? I need you." Neal said.

"Sure, Cam. Are you okay? You sound winded."

"No, everything's coming undone they're going to find out about me well about us and he might find us everyone's going to think I'm a pansy and even the cloud looks angry and –" Neal's thoughts came out all at once and in between one of his panting breaths he took.

"Whoa honey, hold on, I don't understand what you're saying." Dessa's voice sounded bewildered and worried.

"Just come. Please."

"Okay, I'll be there soon."

Neal's sprint slowed to a jog as he tired but he was almost home. Upon arriving he burst through the door and sat down at his table. He was panting still, and trying to catch his breath. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his hands were shaking like one of those pretty golden and red leaves in the warm wind. A few moments later a 'knock knock knock' sounded at his door. It was June. She stood in the doorway with a playful smirk on her face – there was yet another beautiful woman here for Neal. She laughed in her head because she shouldn't be surprised at this woman – a gorgeous dark brunette with long curly hair, olive skin and green eyes. She looked like a Greek goddess come to life. But that was fitting because if ever there were a man who could fit the bill for a real-life Adonis, Neal was it. June had met both Alex and Sarah, and Neal showed her a picture of Kate. This new woman was just as stunning, though she looked a bit rougher for wear than did the other three; she had a scar on her face running from her temple to her jaw and her eyes had a flawed deepness to them that Kate's, Alex's, and Sarah's did not seem to have. Still though, she was quite comely and was yet further evidence that her handsome tenant did date the most beautiful women on the planet. "Neal," June said – these thoughts playing out in her head – "there's a lovely young lady named Dessa here for you."

"Send her in, June, thank you."

"Neal? Is everything alright?" June's little smile vanished as she noticed that Neal did not look up to speak to her.

Neal looked up and tried, but failed, to flash one of his trade-mark Caffrey smiles. "It's okay, June. Thank you."

June could tell that everything was indeed not okay, but she let it go and sent in Dessa. "If you need anything, please let me know, Neal."

"I will, thank you."

Neal turned his attention to the woman before him. God she was beautiful, his Dessa. "Des – " He got out one syllable before shaking his head and grimacing. Dessa came around the chair to stand next to him and hug him. She knew now what this was about. Their past was catching up to them. Without saying a word she ran her lips against his temple, then laid the softest of kisses under his eye, and then taking the back of his head in one hand, she kissed him slowly on the lips. She moved her head back and looked into his eyes. She knew to everyone else they were like clear blue skies, but she'd seen those skies turn cloudy and rain many times. She knew because his eyes mirrored her own, and both held enough pain to last a lifetime. She kissed him again, this time more passionately. He ran a hand through her hair and the other one began pulling up her shirt. "Des…" He said her name as a sigh of the relief he so desperately needed. They sped up now, skirt and trousers coming off, shirts and undershirts already off. They moved to his bed and began the therapy that both of them needed in order to survive. It was sex that was on a scale in between love-making and fucking.

This is what they did when they got together, and since Kate was gone and Sarah had broken up with him, they'd been getting together quite often. Neal could never bring himself to cheat on Sarah, because he was a one-woman-man, but he wasn't going to lie – he'd thought about it often. It was just that Des could give him something that Sarah never could – honesty and truth and love and pleasure and passion all at the same time, and all with just a simple look and the slightest touch. Kate and Alex had had this effect on him too, though not so strong as Dessa – because Dessa was the only one who truly understood what happened to him as a child because it had happened to her. But all three of the women he'd loved had had rough spots in their lives and they accepted his pain and knew his story. Neal had thought of telling Sarah, like he had Kate and Alex, but he didn't. He didn't think she'd understand, and if she couldn't understand then she'd judge, and if she'd judge then he couldn't be with her. It wasn't that Sarah's life had been all rainbows and roses but she didn't have the trainwreck of a life that he and Dessa had, and she didn't have the slightly less of a trainwreck of a life that Kate and Alex had had. And when someone doesn't have anywhere near the same background it makes it hard to believe that they could understand. So he didn't tell her and instead, in his private thoughts, he'd thought of Des often. And when Sarah finally broke up with him (and when she did in such a way that proved his suspicion that she'd never really accepted who he was), he started seeing Des again. He'd had her and she'd had him their entire lives – before Kate, after Kate and before Sarah, and after Sarah. She came to him when he needed her, and he came to her when she needed him. But despite the strength of passions he felt when he was with Dessa – or maybe because of it – he could never actually be with her as a couple, and he knew Dessa felt the same way. They would never work because of their pasts.

The love-making/fucking session was winding down. Neal was on top of Dessa, underneath a thin sheet that covered only their lower halves. He kissed her neck as they continued to rhythmically move. Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door and Peter, Jones, and Diana burst in. "Neal?" Peter's voice was laced with heavy concern.

"What the fuck, Peter!" Neal yelled.

"Oh god I'm sorry!" Peter darted out of the room and pushed Jones and Diana back into the hallway. "I'm sorry Neal!" He called through the door, "I was just really worried."

Neal swore again and disentangled himself from Dessa. "Sorry, Love. I need to deal with this quick but I'll come to the club soon and we can talk. I need to tell you what's going on."

"It's okay, Cam," Dessa said, "come right there and we'll get everything figured out." Dessa got up from the bed and quickly put on her skirt, shirt, and jacket. She was outwardly calm though she felt as scared as Neal.

"Des – thank you, and…" Neal started, his blue eyes briefly returning to their normal brilliant hue. He put his boxers and pants back on.

"I know. Me too." Dessa looked back and gave a little smile before opening the door and walking past the agents with barely an acknowledgment of their presence.

Peter and the other two agents walked in as Neal was zipping and buttoning his pants. "Neal, really, I am so so sorry –" Peter said

"Save it." Neal scowled. "What do you want?"

"I want you to come down to the office and tell us about the kid in the picture. Or do it here if you want. Neal, if you know anything you could help us solve this case."

Diana spoke, "We're all concerned about you, Neal. If there's anything we can do…"

"I want you to all get out." Neal's voice came out as a growl. He seemed to realize this and sighed, turned around and put on his shirt and jacket. "Look, I'm sorry for being rude but I really can't talk about this right now." His voice lightened and he picked his chin up and put his hands in his pockets. Now that his stance was changed from his formerly aggressive one to his more normal, charming, Caffrey one, he said "I'll come to the office in two hours, I just need to clear my head first."

"Okay Neal, it's a deal." Peter said. He looked visibly relieved.

After Peter, Jones, and Diana left the apartment, Neal checked his wallet to make sure he had enough cash and then walked out and caught a cab. He was going about a half mile west to the Starlight Club. He had to see Des again and he knew she'd be onstage dancing at 9am.

Meanwhile, Peter, Diana, and Jones had been driving for awhile and had long since passed the Federal Plaza. "Peter," Jones asked, "what are we doing?"

They came up to the Brooklyn Bridge. "We're going to my house and we're calling Mozzie. We need to know what's going on with Neal."


	4. Chapter Three

**Hi everyone, just want to say thanks again for the reviews! I definitely love that there are people out there who are reading this! And did you catch the last episode of the show? How weird is it that Caffrey and Joe Manganiello's character ended up at a strip club named "Stardust" and the club in my story (which if you didn't figure out, is a strip club) is called the "Starlight"? That my friends, is called 'synchronicity'! **

_Chapter Three_

"Good plan Peter, but why are we going all the way to your house?" Jones said.

"Because Mozzie isn't going to go anywhere near a Federal building. And plus, Elizabeth's not working today and she's home." Peter said as he pushed the button on his car phone that dialed Mozzie's number. Jones looked a bit perplexed at Peter's last reason for going home, but Diana gave a little smile – she knew that this was one of those times that Peter was going to look for insight from his beautiful and smart wife. He was one smart man, afterall.

"Hello, Mozzie? It's Peter. Where are you? I need your help."

"Hello, Suit," Mozzie replied, sounding slightly vexed that he was being interrupted by his friend's leash, "it's Thursday, so where do you think I am? And about the help, I refer you to Algernon Sidney – 'God helps those who help themselves.'"

"Mozzie, I don't have time for wit today – "

"Suit… be patient, play a little." His tone picked up a bit now that he had hooked the Fed into his favorite game.

"Fine. 'Idiots and lunatics see only their own wit.'"

"Ah, very good, Suit!" Mozzie sounded delighted and rather suprised that Peter knew the French writer. "But I counter your _de la Rochefoucauld_ with one of America's best: 'All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher.'"

"Mozzie…"

"You don't know who said it?"

"No Mozzie, I don't care who said it. Look, Neal's in trouble. Like in a steep-downward-spiral-kind-of-trouble. Can you meet me at my house as soon as you can? I have no clue what's going on with him or what he's trying to hide, and I need your help. Neal needs your help."

Mozzie immediately stopped his game and in a serious voice he said to Peter, "Okay Peter, I'll be right over. And Peter, why do you think he's spiraling?"

"He walked out of a briefing on a case this morning after looking at an old picture and the look on his face was as if he were done. Just done. We went to June's and we, uh… well, we walked in on him and a woman. And I have no idea who the woman is. Diana snapped a picture of her as she was leaving and we're running it through our facial recog. program but that may take awhile."

At this, Mozzie was silent for a full ten seconds before heaving a deep sigh through the phone. "Don't bother with it," he said, "I know who she is. I'll fill you in with what I can when I get to your house. Is Mrs. Suit going to be there? I could use the back-up if I'm going to be divulging secrets to all of you Feds."

"Yes she's already there, Mozzie." Peter said. He was a bit alarmed that Mozzie had referred to his wife as his "back-up", but he thought he'd better let it go for now. "I'll see you soon."


	5. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

Elizabeth Burke was still in her pajamas when her husband and his fellow agents entered her home. She'd been lying on the couch reading a book on the origins of well-known fairytales. Satchmo got up from his place by her feet to run and greet his friend. Peter reached down to scratch the dog behind his ears, "Hey Satch, how you doin'?" The dog wagged his tail in response and gave him a happy grin.

"Hon…" Elizabeth put the book down on the coffee table and scrambled to cover herself with a blanket. Her pajamas consisted of a pair of short, powder blue, silk shorts and a dark grey camisole. There was no reason that Jones and Diana had to see her like this. The corner of Peter's mouth went alternately up and then down as emotions of first pride and then jealousy shot through him - pride that he had such a gorgeous wife and jealousy that his colleagues were seeing her wearing next to nothing. Even though both Diana and Jones had looked away because they knew Elizabeth was embarrassed, they both found his wife to be extremely attractive. "Hello." She said with a graceful smile to Jones and Diana.

"I'm sorry, El, I should have called on the way. We have situation with Neal and we need Mozzie's help, so we have to work here for a bit. But hopefully we won't be here too long." Peter helped his wife stand up and wrap a soft, dark green throw around herself. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and said, "Mozzie'll be here soon and did you know that you're his back-up? He wants you around." Peter motioned to Jones and Diana, "I think he feels like he's surrounded when it's just us."

Elizabeth laughed – "Yes I know I'm his back-up, and he's mine."

"But I thought I was your back-up." Peter whined.

"Well of course you are, hon, but when you and Neal get together sometimes the rest of us feel left out, so Mozz and I decided that if we want to we can be just as much of an Abagnale-and-Shea as you two." She paused, "Is Neal okay?"

Peter shook his head. "No, he's not. There's something really wrong. Hopefully Mozzie can tell us what it is before we go back to the office and meet with Neal. I don't want to walk into that blind."

Elizabeth started walking up the stairs and said, "Okay, well I'm going to go change. You put on some tea for everyone. Make it chamomile – you all look stressed."


	6. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

By the time Elizabeth walked back downstairs, Mozzie was there. He looked nervous sitting on the couch in-between Diana and her husband. All three were sipping tea. He looked up at her with relief that she was there. "Hi, Mrs. Suit." He glanced down at the book on the coffee table and asked, "What are you reading?"

Elizabeth smiled at what had become an affectionate nickname and she winked back at him. "The Origins of Modern Fairy Tales; the one I'm reading about now is 'The Pied Piper of Hamelin'. I just started." She grabbed herself a cup of tea and offered some to Jones, who politely declined for a second time. He wasn't much of a tea-drinker. Elizabeth motioned to Peter to get up, so that she could sit next to Mozzie. He did, and now that Mozzie was in between Mrs. Suit and the Pantsuit, he felt more comfortable.

"How apropos." Mozzie said to Elizabeth. Normally he'd take pleasure in being able to use one of his favorite words, but not this time.

"How so?" Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at her friend.

Mozzie looked down at his hands and said, "It's speculated that the Pied Piper, at least in some of the earlier versions of the story, was a pedophile."

At this there was an auditory intake of breath from the others in the room and the tension became so palpable that Peter swore they might all die of asphyxiation. "Mozzie," he said, leaning forward from the chair in which he was now sitting, "Pedophilia… that's what's happening in the case we're working on. Pedophilia and prostitution. How is Neal mixed up in this? What can you tell us? Who was that woman?"

At her husband's words, Elizabeth began to look panicked. She didn't know why her husband was working on a case like this and she didn't like it.

"Well first of all," Mozzie said, "you really walked in on them?"

"Yeah…"

Diana came to her boss's defense, "Well, there was a lot of screaming going on – it sounded like either sex or a woman dying so it fell under extenuating circumstances. Unfortunately for us – but fortunately for the woman – it was the former." Her sly grin achieved her goal and, for a second, broke the thick tension in the room.

Mozzie laughed. "Yeah Neal is apparently a great lover, or at least, that has been my impression as someone who has lived with him and has, many a time, had to wear earplugs around the house when he goes at it with one of his lady friends – especially when that lady friend is Dessa."

Chuckles all around.

"Dessa. Is that the woman Neal was with?" Peter asked.

"Yes. Well, I didn't see but I'm assuming it is." Mozzie answered. "She and Neal have known each other since they were I think seven or eight years old and have been lovers for many years." Diana pulled out her phone and showed Mozzie the picture she had hurredly taken. "Yes, that's her." he said.

Mozzie fell silent again. Just admitting who the woman was had taken a lot out of him. Never in a million years did he think he'd be sitting on a couch in a Federal agent's home disclosing a friend's closest secrets. He and Neal had once promised each other that they'd never betray each other. And now it was as if Hell froze over, as if pigs flew, or even more preposterous and devastating yet - as if Magritte had really written "Ceci est une pipe".

"So… can you help us and tell us what you can about her and about what Neal is hiding?" Peter prompted, his jaw clenching. God it was like pulling teeth when it came to getting either Neal or Mozzie to open up about the past! He was frustrated – he knew that there was a code of secret-keeping between the two criminal friends but Mozzie had to understand that by telling them what he knew, he would really be helping Neal. "You know you'll be helping him if you tell us." As he voiced his thoughts he slid the picture of the boy from the security camera on the table.

Mozzie glanced at the picture and then turned his head to the right and shut his eyes tightly. He was lost to his ruminations. He remembered the day he'd met his best friend. He was on a downtown South Boston street running the old three-card Monte con with his partner of the time, Gino. Neal had strolled up looking very much the wide-eyed mark and Mozzie, ever the ruthless shill, hooked him. Gino had some of the quickest hands around and as he moved the cards he sang, "Follow that girl, she's pretty in RED. Ask her to dance and then take her to BED! Bola bola, follow the BEE. If you can't find the lady, you can't beat ME!"

Neal had played them both and switched the card. Mozzie chased after him because he was so impressed and when he'd caught up to him he'd grabbed Neal's wrist to get him to stop running. Neal had pulled away so violently and with such a terrified expression on his face that Mozzie had reeled. And it was then that he'd noticed how thin and malnourished his mark looked. Neal's gaunt face showed shadows under his cheekbones, and his eyes, aside from showing extreme fear, were slightly sunken. His skin was ashen and his breaths were shaky and uneven. "Whoa, kid," Mozzie had said, "I'm not going to hurt you. I was just impressed with that switch you made. I'm looking for a new partner – I want to trade up."

Mozzie's mind flashed forward to a few minutes later. He'd convinced Neal to have a bite to eat with him. He remembered that he hadn't even been hungry but he didn't think Neal had had anything to eat in awhile.

"Why don't you start at the beginning." Peter interrupted. "How did you and Neal meet?"

"We were at a bar," Mozzie said, leaving out the part about the con "I'd seen him on the street earlier and he impressed me. So we hit it off and went to a bar. He told me there that he was only sixteen but I didn't know that before. And he needed to eat, he looked like he was starving – and that's not hyperbole – he _really_ was starving."

Mozzie thought back to the moment: they'd been sitting in Kilkenny's, one of the many Irish bars in the area, and he'd asked Neal his name. The bartender had cranked up the stereo system because the new song by The Cranberries had come on and the Irish band was one of her favorites. The young man had taken his time with an answer but finally, over the mellow, yet loud, tune, Mozzie heard his new acquaintance say "Neal." Mozzie knew it wasn't his real name. But he was in no position to pressure Neal into telling him his real name, and of course, he wasn't about to tell the kid his real name either yet.

"He told me his name was Neal, I asked him if he had a place to stay – which, he didn't – and I told him he could stay with me. He'd run away and had been living on the streets for a few months, trying to get enough money to get out of Southie. He was one of the best dodgers I'd ever seen. He could make even the hardest lifts look easy."

"I'm sorry, 'dodgers'?" Elizabeth cut in.

"Means 'pick-pockets' or 'lifters'; it specifically refers to children but it can also be used for adults." Elizabeth's sweetness prevented her from thinking of the famous literary child-pickpocket and she gave Mozzie a blank stare. "After the Artful Dodger, Mrs. Suit." Mozzie clarified.

"And did you say Southie?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Mozzie replied, "Boston. That's where he's from. And since I found out Neal was sixteen I didn't feel right about having him run cons with me so I tried to get him back into school. It didn't really take so he did start running cons. He was already an accomplished painter and he was a natural for forgeries. He was, well, he is, really smart – like nearly genius IQ smart. So most of his exceptional talents come from him being observant and intelligent."

"Tell us about this photo, Mozzie." Peter said, pushing the picture towards Mozzie once again. Mozzie squirmed and Elizabeth comforted him by reminding him that he was helping Neal.

"Fine." Mozzie sighed, "It's Neal. I don't know how old he is there, but I think maybe thirteen or fourteen. It was before I met him but I know it's him."

Peter was angry. And heart-broken. To know that Neal was the boy from the security camera photo was just devastating. "Mozzie," Peter said, slowly, "do you know anything about Neal's past before he came to you? Because this photo… this photo means that he was the boy from my first case out of Quantico. We were trying to solve a child prostitution case. This boy… this…" Peter trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. He meant to say that the boy from the photo had been forced to prostitute, that Neal had been forced to prostitute. But he couldn't say the words. He didn't want to think about what it really meant. His Criminal Informant – his friend and partner – had been a victim of prostitution, which meant that he had been abused, raped, violated. And he'd been just a kid. How anyone could do that to a child was unfathomable. How could anyone do that to Neal? After he'd graduated from the Academy Peter had volunteered for Violent Crimes. He felt such an anger towards these types of criminals that he wanted to do anything he could to put them away. There was an opening in the Boston field office, and so even though his background was in finance, they put him where he wanted to go. He'd lasted that first case and after it'd gone cold he decided to work where his strengths were and eventually he wound up in the White Collar unit in New York. Peter had always remembered that case though, and that boy's face. How he couldn't have recognized that Neal had been that boy was beyond him. But then, a full-on Neal Caffrey was deliberately nothing like that boy. Neal was like Superman disguising himself as Clark Kent, only reversed.

Jones, Diana, and Elizabeth all sat in stunned silence, thinking about the implications. Elizabeth had a few tears starting and Jones and Diana had their jaws and fists clenched tight, willing the tears not to come. But their hearts were breaking just as much.

Mozzie answered, "Yes, a little bit. Neal isn't exactly forthcoming, you know that. But I know that he and Dessa both lived with a guy named Martin." Mozzie spat out Martin's name like it was poison. He thought back to Neal's screaming in terror when he was having one of his many nightmares or flashbacks. Neal had definitely had PTSD and he'd scream out "Marty! Marty stop!" After trial and error, he'd found that the thing that calmed down Neal the fastest was painting. So whenever he had a nightmare or a flashback Mozzie would get out canvas and paints and Neal would get lost in the art and stop thinking about the object of his fear.

"Sorlie, I think his last name is." Mozzie continued. "That's Dessa's name too – Dessa Sorlie."

"Is she this Martin guy's daughter?" Jones asked.

"No, Neal told me once that she took his last name because she couldn't remember her own. Martin was Neal's legal guardian. He's the guy you're looking for."

"Mozzie, are you saying that Neal's legal guardian is the one that pimped him out?" Diana asked.

"Yes. I don't know how long he'd been Neal's guardian but I think Neal knew Sorlie since he was seven or eight years old. I tried asking Neal how old he was when Sorlie started doing… starting doing what he was doing, and Neal wouldn't say. It's why Neal doesn't trust anyone, I think. I mean he trusts some of us somewhat, but he doesn't trust anyone all the way."

Peter thought back to the time when he and Neal had been in the compromising position while working on the organ trafficking case. He looked at Mozzie, "Neal told me he trusts me. He said that out of all the people in his life… even out of you and Kate… that he trusted me the most."

"And what was happening at the moment he told you that?" Mozzie said.

"He was handcuffed to a chair. I was deciding on whether to get him out of yet another mess he made or to let him face the consequences."

"Ah." Mozzie rolled his eyes.

"Ah?" Peter repeated.

"Ah. Suit, I can't believe you still can't tell when Neal's running a con to get what he wants. I mean, he does like you and respect you, and he trusts you to a point, but not as much as he trusts me or as much as he trusted Kate. He trusted Kate the most, well, he trusted Kate as much as he trusts Dessa, which is who he trusts the most. You'd think after chasing him so long and now working with him for so long that you'd understand a thing or two about the man. And I bet you believed the story he told you about his father too."

"What? First he told me that his father was a hero cop, then a dirty cop. That's not true?" Peter asked.

Mozzie had had about enough of this. He was done spilling his friend's secrets. "I'll let Neal tell you what he wants to tell you. Just… about the other stuff, don't push too hard. Neal has real deep psychological scars from this, as you can imagine. So don't push too hard. You'll break him."

Peter was quite upset now. Even though he shouldn't be, he was surprised that Neal was lying about trusting him as much as he said. He wasn't angry at Neal, because given Neal's background he couldn't blame him for feeling the way he did. But it was still disappointing to know that the foundation of trust he thought he'd built with Neal wasn't as solid as it seemed. Mostly though, Peter was angry that Neal had gone through what he went through. It sickened him to think of Neal as a child, poor and hungry on the streets because he'd been running from the lecherous snake who was supposed to be his guardian.

"Mozzie, thank you for your help," Peter said, "I know it wasn't easy but the information you've given us is going to help put Sorlie away, and that is what is going to help Neal. We have to get to the office, we're meeting him there." Peter stood up and leaned over his wife and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Jones and Diana said their good-byes and walked towards the door.

"Are you going to stay here for a bit or are you headed out too?" Peter directed the question towards Mozzie.

Mozzie looked at Elizabeth and she looked at him and then Peter and said, "I think it would be good if Mozzie stays here for a bit. This whole thing is very upsetting and I think I don't want to be alone right now."

"That's a good idea, hon." Peter nodded his head at Mozzie in thanks and started for the door. He turned around once more and said to Elizabeth, "El, I love you."

Elizabeth smiled, her loving husband was doing the best he could to make her feel better. And it was working. "I love you too, hon." She replied.

Peter walked out his front door and got in his car where his fellow agents were already waiting. "Are we ready for this, people?" He asked them. The question was treated as if it were rhetorical and no one answered.


	7. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

"And please welcome to the stage, the lovely Desirée!" The emcee at the Starlight Club was talking to almost no one. It was 9:10am and there were two men in the club – two besides Neal – and one other dancer besides Dessa. Neal smiled at her stage name; it wasn't much of a change to go from Dessa to Desirée, but Dessa had no reason to hide. The club was swank and underground. Hidden under the guise of an abandoned building was a main stage with three 20' poles and several small table stages that had shorter poles. The décor was a classy midnight blue and airy white theme, with blue uplighting and black upholstered chairs that shimmered to match the dancers' bare bodies. It was a full-nude club and as such did not openly serve alcohol, but for loyal and trustworthy customers, such as Neal, there were exceptions made.

Dessa was the sole dancer on the main stage with Neal as her only customer. The other two men were being entertained by the other dancer at one of the side tables. Dessa wore a red lace g-string and a matching lace bra that was more sheer than solid. She had on thigh-high red boots. Her outfit – if one could call what she was wearing an "outfit" – was designed to show off her slim dancer's body and her small, yet sexy, 32 B cup chest. Dessa climbed up the 20 foot pole and held position at the top. She arched her back, hooked one leg around the pole and deftly unclipped her bra with one hand, letting it fall to the ground. Megadeth's "Symphony of Destruction" had started to play when she'd started to climb and as the bass and metal rushed through the club she let slip her hand and wound her way down the pole, fast and graceful. She held her head back, letting her long dark hair cascade downward, and she lifted her chest to paint a picture of feminine beauty to satisfy the male lust staring up at her from below.

With a "Just like the Pied Piper led rats through the streets, we dance like marionettes… Swaying to the Symphony ..." Neal watched her sway and writhe and dance just for him. He unconsciously moved his tongue over his lips. He took a sip of his single-barrel 15-year-aged Balevenie Scotch and caught eyes with his beautiful friend. When Dessa first started dancing at this place Neal thought it was odd that a strip club would open at 9am, but from a business point of view, it made sense. The proximity to the financial district of Manhattan meant that any wealthy stockbrokers, trustfund babies, attorneys, hedgefund managers, and executives who were on the lookout for skin early in the morning would find it here, and pay handsomely for it. And Neal was certainly no stranger to the place, but it was only for Dessa. She had made it safely to ground and she crawled across the stage to Neal on her hands and knees and turned around so that she was looking the same direction he was. She took the top of her red panties and hooked a thumb underneath. In a smooth motion, as she laid her head on the stage, she pulled them partway down. She reversed her position and now looking at Neal, she sat in such a way that she made a "V" with her body. She pulled her g-string all the way off and drew shapes in the air with her legs. As the song ended, she opened her legs completely, giving Neal the view he'd been waiting for. She leaned down from the stage and kissed him. "I need a break."

Dessa walked over to the bar, not bothering to dress, and asked for a water with ice. Normally she wouldn't take a break after dancing only one song, but it was seriously dead and she wanted to talk with Neal. Dessa sauntered back over to him, letting him enjoy the paradox of sex and grace that was her. She put her water on the little bar at the edge of the stage and eased down to sit on his lap. She sat so that both her legs were to one side and she draped a lithe arm around his neck. "What's going on Cam?" She asked.

Neal wrapped his left arm around Dessa's waist and his right hand rested on her upper thigh. "Peter's got an old photo of me. It's from when I was 13 and it's from a security camera."

"I thought he worked White Collar, why does he have anything to do with what was happening when you were thirteen?" Dessa said, raising an eyebrow.

"He works White Collar now, but I guess at the time he was in Violent Crimes out of Boston, and they'd gotten a tip that the boy in the picture – me – was forced to…" Neal ran his hand through his hair and looked Dessa in the face, "…well you know what it was."

Dessa rubbed Neal's forearm comfortingly and said, "Yes. But how did they get the tip – I mean, who tipped them off? And, _what _was the tip – it couldn't have been just a picture with nothing on it."

Neal shook his head, "I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out since this was dropped on me. I think Peter and the VCU must have gotten a phone call or something to go with it. Or, I don't know, but there must have been something else. And as for who, the only person I could think of was Daw Zeyar. She always cared about us, I could tell."

"Yeah that must be it. Daw was the only one who would have known and who would have done something about it."

Neal and Dessa sat in comfortable silence, each thinking about their beloved Daw. She was Martin's housekeeper, and was an illegal immigrant from Burma. When they were in their early teens, Daw had been in her early thirties. Aside from the housekeeping, she was the one who kept them fed and gave them hugs and told them stories. She was the only one, during the whole time they'd been with Marty, who had ever given a damn about them.

"So Cam," Dessa said, "what's the problem?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Neal asked, surprised that Dessa didn't get it. "I don't want this muck from my past – from our past – to be dragged up. And I work with these people. They don't need to know this about me."

"I see." Dessa replied. Neal had started to inch his fingers up and now he was lightly grazing his thumb against her hip that was the closest to his waist. "But Cam," she continued, "don't you remember that old proverb Daw used to tell us? 'Even if the truth is buried for centuries, it will eventually come out and thrive.' It's coming out now. Maybe it's a good thing."

"How can it be a good thing?" Neal said, his pitch raising a bit.

"Because you can catch him. Finish this. There must be a reason the FBI is bringing this back up. Either they somehow have a new lead on the old case – on us – or they have a new lead on a new case, which means there's other children out there doing what we had to do. And if you don't help then that's just…. I don't know what it is, but it's not right." Dessa had always been a smart girl.

Neal looked at his watch. It was 10:30 and he was an hour late in meeting Peter.

"Don't you remember Maung Maung?" Dessa asked?

Neal smiled. "Maung Maung," he laughed "I don't know how I could have forgotten. I loved that little kitten!"

"I have to go on stage again, the boss is looking at me." Dessa said. She got up fron Neal's lap and climbed on the stage. She put her lingerie back on quickly and started climbing the pole. Sting's "Desert Rose" came on and started singing about "a man's desire". There were a few other people in the club now and Neal knew the attendance would continue to climb as they neared the lunch hour. Rich men, and even a few rich women, needed their erotic fix before going back to work. A man in what looked like at least a $10,000 suit sat down a few chairs away from Neal and looked up at Dessa spinning on the pole. When she reached the ground she crawled over to him and put on the same show that she had for Neal a few minutes ago. Dessa gave a little smile as he tried to touch her and she swatted his hand away. Neal was about to step in but a 6'4" bouncer standing twenty feet away gave the man a menacing look. He was nicknamed "Brick" and was built like one. Dessa felt a burst of glee flit through her because the man next to Neal wanted her so much but he couldn't have her. The man leaned back in his chair and decided he was going to be a gentleman. He took out a $50 for Dessa and she put one hand on the back of his chair, leaned forward so that her chest was centimeters from his face, and blew slowly in his ear. The warm sensation in his ear and the proximity of her naked flesh made him close his eyes and take a deep breath. Dessa leaned back again, took the $50, said "Thank you, honey" in her most sensual voice, and walked back and dropped the money by the pole. She started to climb up once again to do some more tricks.

Neal's mind wafted back to Maung Maung. He could still hear Daw's voice as she would tell him and Dessa the bedtime story that was really a fable from her native Burma:

_ This is the story of Maung Maung, the Jumping Cat of the Jumping Cat Monastery. There was once a little kitten named Maung Maung. He had chocolate brown fur and a cream little belly and the greenest green eyes you ever did see. He was supposed to be one of the magnificent Jumping Cats of the Jumping Cat Monastery. All the monks loved him because he was so beautiful. And just like all the other kittens in the monastery he was given the task to practice his jumps. _

_ "Jump high!" they told him, "And jump strong! You can jump through hoops and jump in loops, jump in flips and jump in tricks. Every kitten gets to jump, but there is only one who gets to jump through the hoop, and you are the most beautiful kitty so you must be the one to jump through the hoop.". _

_ So Maung Maung practiced his jumps all day long to make the monks happy. He could do great leaping bounds and turn somersaults with flair. He could jump higher than high and he could even turn around in mid-air. But he could not jump through the hoop. He thought if he jumped through a hoop he'd get stuck. One day, the monks came into the playroom to see the progress they'd made. They were very impressed by the great leaping bounds and the somersaults and the mid-air turn-arounds. But the monks were very angry with him. They told him again that he was the prettiest of all the kittens and so he was the one who had to learn how to jump through the hoop. So the little cat Maung Maung was very sad, and to make things better, he curled into a ball and went to sleep (you see every cat knows that sleep solves everything). _

_ When he was sleeping he met a lion with a mane as magnificent as spun gold. The lion was in a cage sitting on a rock that was in fact a very large red ruby. A big wooden hoop was lying at his feet. "U Thiha, Mr. Lion," Maung Maung said, "have you ever jumped through a hoop?"_

_ "Yes," said Mr. Lion in a deep voice, "I have been jumping through this hoop since I was a little cub. Why do you ask?"_

_ "Because I must learn how to jump through a hoop."_

_ "Why can't you jump through one now? You look strong."_

_ "I am afraid. I think I will get stuck and it won't let me go."_

_ "You can be a king if you are brave. Everyone says lions are kings, and we jump through hoops. So to be brave you must have to jump through a hoop like we do." _

_ Upon hearing this, Maung Maung got more and more distressed. He knew he had to jump through a hoop but he didn't think he could. So he walked on and on and after so long, he met a great big tiger. The tiger was having the time of his life swimming in a blue river dotted white with clouds from the sky. The riverbed was common brown dirt and the stones were big and grey. The tiger had matted fur and was very thin. He had blood on a paw where he had swum into a current and ran into a stone. At first Maung Maung was afraid, but when he saw the tiger meant him no harm he walked up to the riverside and called to him, "U Kya, Mr. Tiger, have you ever jumped through a hoop?" The tiger swished his tail in annoyance, "No, Maung Maung," He said in a quiet voice, "That is silly. Only the caged lion does stupid things like that. Why are you asking me?"_

_ "Because I must learn how to jump through a hoop."_

_ "You can be a king if you are brave. But the test of bravery is not jumping through a hoop." _

_ "But I must learn how to jump through a hoop. The monks want me to." Maung Maung said._

_ "Then do it."_

_ "But I can't. It will catch me." _

_ "Do it anyway."_

_ "But I can't, it will swallow me whole."_

_ "Do it now."_

_ 'But I don't want to jump through a hoop!"_

_ "Ah," said the swimming U Kya, "so it's not that you cannot, it's that you don't want to. You want to go somewhere else."_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Then go. Be a king somewhere else. And remember, alertness and courage are life's shield."_

_ Before Maung Maung, the little brown cat with the cream-colored belly and the green green eyes, could thank the tiger-king, he woke up. He leaped on top of a table that was by an open window. Maung Maung jumped out of the window and out of the monastery and was never seen again. The monks were saddened and used him as an example to the other Jumping Cats. "See," they said, "this is what happens when you let fear rule your life – you never learn to jump through the hoop and you get lost forever!"_

Dessa came back over by Neal. "Hi, Love. Do you want to talk some more?"

"I'm supposed to get back to the office," Neal said, "and I'm late already. But I don't really want to go. I know I have to tell the FBI what happened to us, but… I just can't. I can't Des."

"Okay, Cameron." Dessa had grabbed her g-string, bra, and wad of cash from the stage, and she jumped down and took Neal by the hand. "Stay here for awhile yet. But let's talk in private."

Neal knew what that meant, so he took $300 from his wallet and gave it to Dessa. She walked over to the manager of the Starlight and gave it to him. Neal had just bought a champagne block. The manager smiled at Neal and said, "You have an hour; you two have fun now."


	8. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

Peter, Diana, and Jones got back to Federal Plaza and rushed up to the office. Peter glanced at his watch – 9:19. "Okay people, we have ten minutes until Neal is supposed to be here, let's run names and re-work the evidence we have."

Jones and Diana, as well as the other agents whom Neal had not recognized, snapped to attention and began to rush around like madmen. The other agents were from the Crimes Against Children Unit. Peter had them go over the evidence, since they were more used to disturbing items than were Jones and Diana. The evidence of the old case consisted of the photo of Neal along with a recording and transcript of a woman who had tipped them off, and of the new case, a disc of a young blonde girl. The disc had what appeared to be an alpha-numeric code on it, reading LUC121011PFb.14. It had come in a manila envelope with a note that said "Please help her!" and an address. Once they had seen what was on the disc – an unspeakable act against a child – the CACU had ordered a Tac Team and had raided the address just hours after receiving it. But just like what had happened to Peter twenty years ago with Neal, they had been too late. The house the address belonged to was empty of people and it looked like everyone had been in a rush to get out. That was when Peter had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night from the head of the CACU, requesting his help. And he was going to be damned if another child slipped through his fingers.

"Jones, Diana, what do you got?"

"I ran the name Martin Sorlie and you'll never believe it – he's Boston PD. He's clean as a whistle too – which I think is too clean." Diana said, walking up the stairs to the balcony where Peter was.

"And I ran 'Dessa Sorlie,'" Jones said, "and she came up as having been arrested for prostitution back in '95, but she was only seventeen and was released. Her name is listed as an alias because she's a ghost otherwise – no birthdate, social security number, nothing. She was printed and put into the system under Sorlie. The only thing it says under 'comments' is "Sorlie is possible alias; Suspect claims to not know her real name."

"All right, good work." Peter said. He motioned to Diana and Jones to follow him into the conference room. "Jackson, Draper, Phillips – " He said to the other agents already there, "- did you get anything else from the evidence?"

"No, nothing." Draper said.

Peter sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Okay well it's 9:40 so Neal should be here by now." He frowned. "I don't know why he isn't here already, it's not like him to be late."

Peter paced around the room for ten minutes, muttering "Dammit Neal" under his breath. Finally he took his phone out and dialed. "El?"

"Yes hon, what is it?" His wife answered.

"Is Mozzie still with you?"

"Yes, he's still here. Do you want to talk to him?" Elizabeth noticed her husband's stressed tone and she immediately handed the phone to Mozzie.

"Yes please, thanks hon." Peter said.

"I'm not your hon." The loveable con said.

"I thought it was still Elizabeth. Hey look Mozzie, Neal's not here and he was supposed to be here over ten minutes ago. He's usually not late and I don't know what to do. I'm thinking if he's not here by now, he's not coming."

"You're probably right about that." Mozzie said.

"I tried calling June's and she went to look in his room and he's not there. Do you know where he could be?" Peter's last sentence came out as desperate.

"I know exactly where he is. He's visiting Dessa at a gentleman's club called "The Starlight."

"Thanks, Mozzie," Peter said, "I'm going there to get him. I know he's had it rough and he's in for a rough time these next couple of days, but I don't think he understands that there is a little girl's life at stake. I can't afford to give him more time."

"Okay Peter, and this time I actually am happy Big Brother can step in. I'll meet you at the club, maybe I can help convince him." Mozzie hung up the phone.

"Starlight Club." Peter said. "That's where Caffrey is; Jones you're with me, Diana you stay here and keep working the case with Phillips, Jackson, and Draper. And find out as much as you can about Sorlie. I want to know everything about him from his parents to his siblings, to where he went to school to what he did before he was in the Boston PD and what he's doing now."

"Sure thing, Boss." Diana said.

"Jones, let's go." Peter didn't notice Jones's small smile. The agent was happy that Peter had chosen him to go to the Starlight – he wanted to see Caffrey's girl again. Dessa hadn't noticed him when she'd pushed past him back at June's house, but he'd noticed her. And she was a beauty. Even if she had a sordid past, it didn't mean she wasn't worthy of respect and love. And Jones, if he wasn't mistaken, was already smitten.


	9. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

Jones had protested to Peter about taking the car, insisting that they should take the subway – something about a parade and diversions or some other thing – and after being stuck in gridlock traffic for nearly an hour and finally getting to the club a few minutes after 10:30, Peter had to admit that his fellow agent had been right. As they rushed up the stairs to the door Jones looked over at Peter and said "Nice place." sarcastically. From the outside it looked like it was going to be a dive. They walked past a sign that said 'No cover before 4pm', and stepped inside. "Nice place." Jones said again, this time dropping the sarcasm. Peter raised an eyebrow in agreement. While he was no frequenter of strip clubs, even he knew that this one was good. He looked to the main stage and saw a blonde with a perfect body in nothing but a white thong swirling down a pole. The blue uplighting and white stage with mirrors all around – including on the ceiling – made her look like an angel who was deliberately taking a slide down from the heavens. Nine Inch Nail's "Closer" started seductively pounding through the club and Peter imagined that if the blonde had been a real angel, she'd have come to earth and lost her wings right then and there.

"_Honey._" He heard and he snapped away from thoughts of the stripper-angel and looked to his left and slightly down. Elizabeth was there, and she looked annoyed. Mozzie was next to her and he appeared pleased that they had caught the Suit with an uncharacteristically unvirtuous stare.

"You can wipe the Cheshire Cat grin off, Mozzie." Peter said. "And hon," now addressing Elizabeth, "… umm… what are you doing here?"

Mozzie smirked and began walking away.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked. "We have to find Neal and I don't see him in here."

Elizabeth spoke, "I'm here for Neal. Mozz thinks that we – him and me – will have a better shot at convincing him then you and Jones. And it's okay, I guess I can't expect you to come to a place like this and admire the nice marble stage."

"Huh?" Peter replied. "Oh right, the stage." It would be just like his event-planner wife to notice the material of the flooring and ignore the topless women. He looked at the main stage again. Make that topless _and_ bottomless women. "Mozzie!"

"'Well, some go this way, and some go that way. But as for me, myself, personally, I prefer the short-cut.'" Mozzie called back at him. He was walking toward a very large, blonde-haired, muscle-bound man in a black shirt who was standing about 50 feet away from the main stage.

"What the hell did he just say?" Peter asked his wife.

"I think he was quoting the Cheshire Cat."

Peter sighed and gave Jones, who was still standing near Peter, the "I need a drink" look. They both glanced over to the bar. Peter really did want a drink if he was going to do what he came here to do. Talking to Neal again about this and trying to get him to tell his story was not going to be easy. But instead of seeing rows of top shelf hooch, he saw a small sign that reminded the patrons that no alcohol was served on the premises, instead, an array of soft drinks and juices were offered. Not that he could have had a drink anyway while he was on the job, but it had been a brief, comforting thought.

Peter strode forward to catch up with Mozzie; Jones and Elizabeth followed. All three looked around the Starlight and saw no trace of Neal. They caught up to Mozzie, who was making small-talk with the enormous gentleman in black. "Brick," Mozzie said, "this is Peter, Jones, and Elizabeth. They're friends of mine and Cam." Elizabeth looked surprised at Mozzie's use of the name 'Cam'. Peter and Jones did not – they'd heard it being screamed pretty loudly by Dessa back at June's place.

"Sounds like a band or something." Brick said in a what sounded like a Louisiana accent. He took Elizabeth's hand and brought it to his lips to give it a chivalrous kiss "Most pleased to meet you, Sha. You put every woman in here to shame." Even after living in New York for many years, he still held onto his Louisiana charm. He didn't see the point of trying to assimilate to a New Yorker's uncouth style when the ladies so clearly loved the way he talked.

Elizabeth blushed and now it was Peter's turn to look annoyed. "Yes, so – "

"SO," Mozzie said, cutting off Peter's brusque tone, "we could use your help. We're looking for Cam and I thought for sure he'd be here. He's in a bit of trouble and we're trying to help him."

"He's here, he's in one of the champagne rooms with Des." Brick said.

"Well where is that? We have to talk to him right now." Peter said, not bothering to let Mozzie take the lead again.

Brick mumbled under his breath something about "moutier foux" and then said to Peter in a normal volume, "Uh nah, you can't go in there. Cameron paid for an hour and an hour is what the two of them are going to get. I have the feeling that something is wrong with Cam and you know that Des's the one that can make him feel better."

"No, _we_ can make him feel better. Well I mean, not like she can, but I mean we have the long-term fix." Peter was getting almost agitated now. He knew he had to keep a cool head but he could only think of the little girl from the new case. He _had _to get her out and Neal was the only one who could help. And plus, he _did _have the long-term fix for Neal. It wasn't that Neal was ever going to be able to completely get over what happened to him, but letting Sorlie run around free was going to ensure that he didn't get over it at all.

Mozzie stepped in between Peter and Brick and turned to Peter and mumbled "Let me handle this." He reached in his pocket and then turned to Brick, shaking his hand firmly. He said, "Well Brick, whatever you can do to help us is great. It is really important."

Brick finished shaking hands with Mozzie and then put his own hands back into his pants pockets. Mozzie had slipped him a $20 and Brick did an about-face and said, "Well fine, you can go get them; yeah, that'd be okay."

Peter, Jones, and Elizabeth all started to follow Mozzie to the Champagne Room. It was a private room on the second floor that overlooked the main stage. The poles on the main stage went all the way up to the second floor and so the patrons in the room got doubly entertained; they could see the dancers at the top of the pole at eye-level, and they were entertained by their very own private dancer – or dancers if they were rich enough to pay for more. But it was $300 an hour per dancer so all but the wealthiest of patrons usually just paid for one. And it wasn't like they were going to get anything other then a tease anyway because just like Chris Rock said, there was no sex in the Champagne Room.

"Hey, nah, just you Mozzie. And if you want to bring that pretty lil' girl with you, you can." Brick said, referring to Elizabeth. "You two," he said to Peter and Jones, "y'all have to stay here. I don't trust y'all."

"Fine." Peter said crossly. He and Jones went and sat by the main stage while Mozzie and Elizabeth started walking up a grand double-spiral staircase to the Champagne Room.


	10. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

"Mozz," Elizabeth started as they climbed the stairway, "I'm no prude by any means, but I'm not very well-versed in all things strip club, so can you tell me what a champagne room is?"

"It's basically a room where people can pay to get privately entertained – there are couches and bottle service and an ipod dock with good speakers so one can choose their own music, and of course it has a few poles and small table stages for the dancers to show off. This place is even fully equipped for a dj to come up here for bachelor parties and things like that. I'm not real into strip clubs myself, but I've been here a few times with Neal, and this place is unreal." Mozzie said.

They were nearing the top of the stairs and Elizabeth paused. "But, what actually goes on in these private rooms?"

"Nothing too ridiculous as far as I know. Just the usual pole dances and lap dances. And it's a rule that the customers can't touch the dancer – and there is usually a security guy who is in the room to make sure everything is okay. I don't know if there's one in there now though, I doubt it. It's still early and I'm guessing since it's Neal and they know that Dessa trusts him that they are okay leaving them alone."

Elizabeth and Mozzie reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner. "Well that's a decidedly un-stripper song." Elizabeth said, speaking of the music that was coming from one of the champagne rooms. There were three rooms on the second floor. There was only one with the door closed and it was the room that had the music coming from it. Mozzie listened for a moment; the song was "Fire in Freetown" by K'naan. The conscientious rapper's voice sang out the words of the Somali classic:

Aha aha aha  
>Sidii hogasha roobka<br>Ah ah aha you shine down upon me  
>Aha aha aha Sidii hogasha roobka aha aha aha you shine down upon me<p>

"Yeah I think that's a song that's special to both of them. When it came out a few years back, when Neal was still in prison, Dessa sent him a tape of it and told him that it reminded her of them. Neal told me that one of the prison guards, Bobby I think? that he gave Neal a cassette player so he could listen to it whenever he wanted."

"But wasn't Neal with Kate then?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes...so…?" Mozzie asked, at first not understanding the Mrs. Suit's confusion.

"I don't know, it seems like if he was in love with Kate – if he thought Kate was "the one" then it seems weird that he'd listen to a love song from another woman."

"Kate was the one, his soul-mate, if there is such a thing. Well, at least Neal thought so. He still thinks so to tell you the truth. He's still not over her – "

"He isn't?' Elizabeth interrupted. "He seems like he is, and he said that it was time to move on."

They hadn't moved from just around the corner at the top of the stairs. They were hiding their nervousness over what was about to happen with procrastination. Even though they thought they would do better than Peter and Jones at convincing Neal to come down to the office, they weren't as up to the task as they had originally thought.

"Yes, he seems like he is," Mozzie said, "but he plays things pretty close to the vest. He doesn't let very many people see when he's upset or hurt. Once and awhile it will come out but it's usually masked by anger then. I can count on one hand the times I've actually seen him cry – and I've known the man for nearly 18 years. Really though, it's been just over a year since Kate died, and you don't get over the death of your "one" – your future wife and mother of your children – in a year. And as for Neal listening to the song Dessa gave him, I guess I can see why you would think that is strange, but I know them both so I don't think it is. They're lovers, of course, and passionate lovers at that – but above all they are friends. It's like when soldiers go off to war and form bonds with their fellow brothers and sisters in arms; they will always be close friends because of the trauma they experienced together. So Neal can simultaneously love Dessa as much as he does and still be in love with Kate."

Elizabeth nodded her head in understanding. She looked at the room with the curtain closed and started to hestitantly move forward. Mozzie moved with her and as they reached the room he looked over and said, "Are you ready, Elizabeth?"

She nodded her head yes and Mozzie slowly turned the knob on the door and inched it open. There was a midnight blue curtain drawn and Mozzie soundlessly moved it aside. Neither Neal nor Dessa noticed – they were busy at the moment. Neal was standing up with his back to them. He was in front of a white leather sofa and he had one hand in his pants pocket and his other was cupping the back of Dessa's head, her tendrils of dark hair entangling themselves around his fingers. Dessa looked up at Neal from where she was – sitting on the edge of the sofa. He looked up to the ceiling and gave a half groan/half sigh as his hips swung slightly forward of their own volition.

Mozzie shut the curtain and the door quickly as Elizabeth said, "Uhh… are they doing what I think – "

"Yes. And we should just go back downstairs and wait." He was already starting to walk quickly down the stairs and Elizabeth, in full agreement, practically ran down.

They found Peter and Jones sitting at the main stage. They were both watching with great interest a beautiful dark-skinned woman with the rather stereotypical stage name of "Kenya" perform her seductions. Jones had wondered if she'd chosen the name or if she had been pressured into choosing something so obviously "ethnic". Peter stood up, "Back so soon? And you didn't get Neal?" He said, addressing his wife and Mozzie.

Elizabeth glanced around, she was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. "Umm… well… I think they were…" She stammered.

"They were what?" Peter asked.

Mozzie took over for Elizabeth, "Well let's just say, it turns out Chris Rock was incorrect about the champagne room."

Jones got the reference and from his seat at the stage he looked over and unconsciously dropped open his mouth in astonishment. Peter didn't get it so he asked Mozzie, "_What _are you talking about?"

"We saw them doing something and we didn't want to interrupt. It would be a crime for a man to interrupt another man when he's getting… when he's getting what he's getting."

Peter looked slightly confused at why Mozzie would suddenly be worried about committing a crime when he'd shown no previous aversion to it, but it was beginning to dawn on him what Mozzie was talking about. He turned to Elizabeth, who was now standing next to him and who had looped her arm around his bicep and was holding tight, and whispered in her ear. She nodded her head.

"We can arrest them for that, can't we?" Jones asked, now rising to stand next to Peter. Jones had been following all along even though Peter had taken longer to catch on. He was thinking that if Caffrey didn't want to voluntarily help them out with the case, that they could make him if they arrested him.

"Yes," Peter said, "we can but I'm not going to do that. It would send Neal back to prison and I won't do that to him. Plus, that's not going to get him to help us find this girl. I think we just have to wait for him to come down."

"It looked like they were almost done anyway." Mozzie said. He winced as soon as he said it – his statement was true but he hadn't meant to speak aloud of such an explicit act.

But as if on cue, Neal and Dessa emerged from the stairs and started walking towards them. "Neal." Peter nodded as he arrived. "You promised to be at the office by now. You're late."

Neal avoided Peter's gaze and said simply, "I know, Peter. I'm sorry". He sat down at the main stage as his lover went on and began performing to the provocative song by Joi. The seductive rhythm began to fill the club and the lyrics played loudly:

I lose all control  
>When you grab a hold<br>And you do your trick  
>I love it when you lick<p>

**Lick**

Mozzie thought that the song – which had to be a stripper's dream song – was especially relevant considering what he and Elizabeth had just caught Neal and Dessa doing. He blushed slightly as he looked up at the stage and saw his friend's girl completely nude and giving a customer a close-up view of her nether regions. It wasn't like this was the first time Mozzie had seen her naked, but still, the situation was beginning to make him feel as uncomfortable as Elizabeth was.

Peter sat down next to Neal and Elizabeth, Jones, and Mozzie all moved to stand behind them. Dessa was at the top of the center pole and Neal's eyes were fixed on her. Jones's eyes were too, but no one noticed – at least he hoped. He knew he was staring and he shouldn't, he should play it cold, but he couldn't help it.

"Neal," Peter said, glancing up at Dessa and then placing a gentle hand on Neal's wrist to try to get his atttention, "we need to talk."

Neal finally tore his eyes away from Dessa and turned his body to the side so he was facing his Federal Agent friend. "I know, Peter."

"You were the boy in the picture." Peter said it softly, and matter-of-factly.

Neal ground his teeth and looked down at the floor. He took his arm back from Peter in order to take a drink of his Maker's Mark that he had brought down from the champagne room – he had switched to bourbon from the scotch he'd been drinking earlier, it was rougher but it was sweeter and that's what Neal wanted; he liked his drink like he liked his women – rough and sweet. It had taken him awhile to get used to the refined wines that his Neal Caffrey personage adored, and since he essentially now _was_Neal Caffrey, he now genuinely adored them too. But today… well today he was going back to his South Boston roots and sticking to variations of whisky, even if it wasn't Irish whiskey.

Neal looked Peter in the eyes and said, "Yes, I was. I was that boy." He ran a hand through his thick brown hair and shut his blue eyes for a brief second. "But I'm not anymore. I'm not that boy anymore Peter, don't you get it? If I talk about this then it means that I still am."

Peter felt a knife pierce him as Neal painfully explained himself. His words were cutting him to the core. He didn't want to do this to his friend. He wished he could just let things be buried as Neal wanted them to be, but he couldn't. A life depended on Neal whether he was ready to face his demons or not. Peter reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He had made a still photo of the little blonde girl from the disc and he unfolded it now to show his partner.

Neal looked at it and then looked up at Peter. "Who is that?"

"This is the little girl that needs our help. Martin has her, Neal. He has her and you know what he's doing to her."

After hearing Martin's name and seeing the picture of the little girl, Neal looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He put his elbows on the little ledge in front of the stage and but his head down and both hands on the back of his skull, his forearms forming a protective barrier for himself. Dessa's set was just getting over and she ran to him as she saw his dejection. She saw the picture on the edge of the stage and looked to Peter: "Was she taken? By Marty?" Peter nodded his head and glanced away, slightly perturbed that her breasts, beautiful as they were, were at his eye-level.

Dessa slid off the stage and sat down on Neal's lap. She had her back to the stage and was facing so that her left side was to Peter, her right was to Neal's chest, and her front were to Elizabeth, Mozzie, and Jones. She had her legs crossed and to one side of Neal's lap and her arms slipped under Neal's arms and wrapped around his back. Neal wrapped his arms around her, bracing hard against her upper ribcage, with the top of his right wrist just grazing her under her breasts. In desperation, his hands pressed tautly the skin of her left side. She held him tight and let him bury his head in the crook of her neck. She let him lose himself for a moment in her soft olive skin, her slightly masculine musky perfume that mixed with her natural feminine scent, her wavy curls silken against his cheek. After close to a minute – a minute in which the manager of the club shot her a look like she was going to be fired if she kept this up, but she didn't care, and a minute of Neal's friends looking awkwardly around as the tender scene before them became more and more dissonant to the club life around them – Neal picked his head up from Dessa's comforting shelter and he looked into her grey-green eyes. His blue eyes were not just full of shame now, but guilt as well. "Des, it's – "

"No, Cameron." Dessa shook her head vigorously. "It's not your fault. It's not our fault that he has her."

"But it is! If I had told the FBI a long time ago, like I said I was going to, then maybe they could have caught him!" Neal's voice raised in anger at himself. He said more softly, "Maybe that girl wouldn't have had to do what we had to do. What Marty made us do…"

Peter furrowed his brow when Neal mentioned the part about telling the FBI a long time ago. Neal had wanted to do that?

"I know, Cam," Dessa continued to comfort him, "look, maybe it could have been prevented if we had told someone. It's not just you, you know. I could have said something too. I should have. But the fact is, Marty's the one whose fault this is. It's all Marty." Neal had continued to hang on to her as if for dear life, but at these words his grip began to loosen slightly. "And Cameron," Dessa continued, "you have the chance now to do the right thing." At this she got up from his lap and put on her clothes, which now consisted of a pair of boy-shorts and a crop-top. She leaned down and gave him a long, loving kiss on the lips. "I have to go get ready for another set. Cameron," she paused to let her words have the maximum effect, "I love you."

Neal gave a genuine smile and he looked into his angel's face and said "I love you too, Des." He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he could do it.

Dessa started to walk away from him and then turned to look back, sensing that he was still hesitating. "Cam, call me later if you need anything. And remember, you can be a king…"

At her words, the shame and guilt didn't totally leave Neal's eyes, but determination began to take over and they started to return to the brilliant blue that they used to be. Neal looked over to Peter and then stood up. "Okay Peter, I'm ready now."


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

"Wait, Dessa!" Peter called after her as she was walking. He started to walk after her and he motioned for everyone else to follow him. As he caught up to her he said "I know you might not want to do this, but I think you can help with the case too. Anything that you can remember about Sorlie can help us find him. Will you come with us to our office?"

Dessa looked to Neal, who appeared hopeful that she would come. It would be easier for him if she was there. She nodded her head at Peter and said, "Sure. Just let me talk to my boss quickly and go change. You can wait outside if you'd like – I'm sure you've all spent more time in here then you'd care to." She looked down when she said this, sure that they thought little of her as a person. But **she** didn't think less of herself, so she picked her head up with pride and started walking in the direction of her boss. Jones looked at her and saw her pride in herself. He was surprised that someone in this business had that, but he was beginning to see that not all exotic dancers fit a cliché, and he was happy to see that she liked who she was.

Neal, Peter, Jones, Mozzie, and Elizabeth all walked outside. It was now midday, sunny, and quite warm. "Well, hon," Elizabeth said, addressing her husband, "I think I'll head back home. I don't think you need me at the office, and to be honest, I don't want to be there when Neal starts to talk about that stuff."

Peter nodded and gave his wife a hug and kiss. "I don't know how long I'll be. It's already noon and we have a lot to do. I might not make it home tonight, but I'll call you either way and let you know." He turned to Mozzie, "Are you coming to the office or can Elizabeth give you a ride somewhere? I think you may be of some help; you said Neal had PTSD, right? I don't know if he's repressed anything, but maybe you can help him if he has. And if anything, you can be there for him as his friend."

Mozzie didn't want to be in a federal building and he hesitated, but only for a moment: "I'll come. Anything to help Neal."

Elizabeth gave Mozzie a smile and started walking towards her car. Just then Dessa came out of the Starlight, this time dressed in street clothes – a pair of dark wash, straight leg jeans, a white tank, and a matte black, leather, slim fit bomber jacket. Neal put one hand in his pants pocket and made his arm into a handle. Dessa ensconced both of her hands inside the crook of his elbow and laid her head lightly on his shoulder as they walked to Peter's car. Peter noticed that their comfort with each other was just like how he and El were with each other. He was happy that his friend had a woman like Dessa in his life. It was sad to think that their comfort with each other was borne out of tragic circumstances, but no matter the cause, it was still good to see Neal so at ease with someone that he wasn't running a con on.

On the ride to the office, Neal, who sat in between his two friends in the backseat of the car, stared out the window, his mind flashing back to moments when he was with Marty. There he was, 9 years old and Marty taking him to a gun range to teach him how to shoot. Then back further, 7 years old and he met Dessa for the first time when Marty took them both to Fenway for their first baseball game. Now jumping ahead to 12 years old, being taken away from his mother and forced to live with Marty. 10, and he told his father what Marty had done; his father shoving him away and telling him that he was making up stories. 13, and he was broken down and weary, crying with Dessa in a locked basement. 15, and he was bigger and stronger now, and he tried to fight Marty, but Marty was bigger and stronger still, and he didn't stand a chance. 16, and he'd escaped from Marty and met Mozzie on a South Boston street. That was a good day. Neal quickly looked over at Mozzie and then went back to staring out the window. He was going to think about Mozzie right now, and not Marty. The car stopped and he recognized that they were at Federal Plaza. He shut his eyes tightly as the anxiety welled up within him. He felt satin-soft lips on his cheek and he opened his eyes to Dessa giving him a quick encouraging kiss before they had to get out of the car.

"Ready, Neal?" Peter asked in a quiet voice.

Neal nodded his head yes and they all got out of the car and walked to the White Collar Unit of the FBI building. The same walls and chairs and desks and transparent rooms that Neal had grown to love were now giving him severe anxiety. His hands started to shake slightly and he began taking shallow and quick, yet still quiet, breaths. He shook his head and got himself under control. He was going to do this.

Peter opened the door of the conference room and held it open for Neal, Dessa, Mozzie, and Jones. It was crowded because Diana, as well as Jackson, Draper, and Philips, were already there discussing the case. "Hi Boss," she said, "we're trying to figure out what this alpha-numeric code means. And we've got a file worked up on Sorlie." She nodded 'hello' to Neal as she slid the disc from the new case across the table to Peter.

Neal intercepted it and looked to his partner. "I know what this is." The agents from the CACU looked at each other in surprise and Draper gave Neal a look of slight suspicion. She was extremely protective of children and given the horror that was on the disc, and given that she didn't know how this Criminal Informant quite figured into the case, she wasn't going to trust Neal right away. Neal didn't notice her accusatory stare and instead he addressed Peter: "Marty was smart, he kept insurance on every client." Neal said the word "client" with an emphasis of disgust. "He kept tapes of everything and the code on the tape, or in this case disc, will match up with a master sheet that has the names of the clients." He continued, reading the code that was written with permanent marker on the disc, "So LUC121011PFb.14 stands for the girl's name, the date of this particular trick – or in other words, rape – and then a code for the occupation of the john and then the shelf and number on the shelf."

A few of the agents in the room looked like they hadn't kept up, so Neal explained further. "Okay, so 'LUC' is the first three letters of the little girl's last name. 121011 stands for 'the 12th of October, 2011'. 'PF' stands for 'Police/Fire' – so whoever the john is, he is either a police officer or a firefighter – and 'b.14' means the shelves that Marty keeps these recordings on – shelf b, disc number 14."

Neal spoke the words flatly, matter-of-factly – all the while staring at a nick in the table that resembled the face from Edvard Munch's "The Scream". He sat down and Dessa sat in the chair next to him. Mozzie hovered for a few moments behind Neal, and then he sat down too. Peter clasped Neal on the shoulder briefly as a way of thanks and then turned to Diana. "Diana, what do you have on Sorlie?"

Neal braced himself. He didn't really want to know.

"He's in the Bureau of Investigative Service, last year he made Captain Detective in the Drug Control Unit. He has his eye on on being a Deputy Superintendent."

At Diana's words Neal shook his head, as if to throw off a bad dream, Dessa had a look of deep disgust on her face, and Peter was dowright livid. He didn't know how this guy had gotten away with what he did for so long, and how he'd made his way up the ranks like that, but it wasn't going to last if he had anything to say about it. "Okay Draper - ? Get going on running a missing persons search on girls aged 9-13 who have the last name starting 'Luc'. Jackson and Phillips, keep working up what you can on Sorlie and work the angle of who sent the disc. If we can find that, maybe we can find where Sorlie is."

The three agents stood up and were about to go out the door when Dessa said, "Peter – may I call you Peter? I think I know who sent it." She looked over to Neal for encouragement and he nodded in silent agreement, "We think it was Daw Zeyar, Marty's housekeeper and our unofficial caretaker."

Diana raised an eye at the unusual name. Peter caught it and thought the same thing she did, "Is that her full name?" He asked Dessa and Neal.

Neal shook his head, "No, 'Daw' was just a term of respect, like 'Aunt' or 'Miss'. I don't actually know her first name. But Zeyar is her last name."

"And why did all she do was send a disc? 20 years ago she sent a tape… of you, Neal, or at least if she's the one that sent the disc then she's probably the one that sent the tape. It had written on it the same thing that the disc did 'Please help this child'. But if she knew that all this was going on and didn't do more to stop it, she's an accessory."

"No!" Dessa yelled, suddenly furious. This was the thing about cops, you try to do the right thing and then they lock you up for it. "She didn't do anything wrong." Dessa continued in a calmer voice.

Neal nodded in agreement – "She's right, Peter. Daw didn't do anything wrong. She was the only one who showed us any sort of care the whole time we were with Marty. And there's a reason she didn't do more. She was an illegal immigrant from Burma and I remember her telling us that she had two children back in Burma that she was trying to get over here. And she was a political protester with the ABSDF – the All Burma Student's Democratic Front – so if she was deported then she'd likely be killed for protesting the new Myanmar government, and then what would happen to her children? She used to tell us stories of what the government did to protesters; they took out whole families, Peter."

Peter raised both of his arms slightly, his hands palm down, and flicked his wrists a couple times in an "it's okay" gesture. "Alright, we won't charge her for anything. But if she's an illegal then I doubt she's going to turn up in the white pages." He turned to Phillips and Jackson, "But run the name anyway, see if anything comes up."

The three CACU detectives left the room to work on their assigned tasks. Now it was just Peter, Diana and Jones, and Neal, Dessa, and Mozzie. "Okay," Peter said, "Neal, Dessa, is it okay if Jones and Diana are in the room for this? They can take notes and go check on things as they come along."

"Yes, it's okay." Neal said. Dessa echoed her consent as well.

"Alright, let's start at the beginning."

"The beginning?" Neal asked.

"Yes," Peter responded, "what's your name? What's your real name?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Hi everyone, thank you again for the reviews! I would love to get some critical reviews if anyone has time; like, what do you think of this chapter and my use of dialogue? Is it too heavy on the dialogue and need more internal memories from the characters, or do you think it's okay? I'm trying to rush the plot forward a little bit more so I struggled a bit with the balance of dialogue-to-internal description in this chapter. Also, what do you think of me bringing in Neal's mother in a later chapter? I'm leaning towards no since I have so many other parts of the story yet to tell, and it might be unnecessary, but I'd love to get your opinion on that. **

**Also, this chapter has more mentions of child sexual abuse, so please, if you are not an adult or if you are an adult who is not so into this story, please skip. I felt nauseous writing some of that stuff (nothing is graphic, just Neal and Dessa mentioning things), and I feel like not writing this story anymore because of it. But I'm too deep into it to quit now, and I promise, it DOES have a purpose! I've read a bit on child predators and had a little training on it since I work with kids, and I'm thinking of trying to get into prevention and care in that field (anti-trafficking stuff). I always had it in my head that even though this is fanfiction, this kind of stuff really goes on and I want to show people how 'grooming' really works – how predators go after children. So if you're reading this and you're a parent or you know younger kids (like nieces, nephews, children of your friends) you can get a better idea of what to look out for. I think that sometimes that stuff makes us so disgusted and scared (rightly so) that we push it from our minds and refuse to think about it. But that doesn't do any good if we really want to protect kids. So approaching this through fiction might be an easier way for us to get through such a tough topic. Hope that makes sense.**

**Anyway, without further ado, here is the next chapter**.

**Ok I lied, further ado: I'm sorry part of the chapter is in bold, I don't know why it is. It is not saved this way on my computer so I don't know why it's showing up as random parts of the story in bold. It's annoying. Sorry.**

Chapter Eleven

"My real name is Neal Caffrey – that is who I am now," Neal said. "But the name my parents gave me…" he continued, "…is George Cameron Ó'Néill II." He said the name in its proper Gaelic pronunciation. All the agents were now seated at the table in the conference room as well. Diana and Jones wrote down what Neal said and waited expectantly for Peter's next question.

"You Irish?" He asked.

"Black Irish." Neal said, smiling with one corner of his mouth. He looked down at his hands, "When he was 11 years old, my father immigrated from Belfast with his mother, his three sisters, and his younger brother. My grandmother was running away from her husband who was a Provisional IRA soldier, and who was dragging the boys into the family business. He was one of the real hardcore guys, my grandfather. I mean I guess I can sympathize with the cause, but some of the stuff the Provisionals did was absolutely terrorism. My grandfather was one of the men pushing for the split from the old IRA, and he definitely had blood on his hands. At least that's what my grandmother used to tell me when she'd tell stories about the family."

"My dad was the second youngest boy among five boys, and my grandfather already made the three oldest ones join the Brigade. Two of them ended up dead before their 16th birthday. My grandmother didn't want to lose her younger sons too so she got political asylum and immigrated."

Peter thought back to what Neal had said once, 'It's in my blood', he'd said, speaking of how he was born to be a criminal. His father had been one, he was one, and now Peter learned that his grandfather had been a terrorist. Maybe it was in his blood. But at least it was getting better – Neal's grandfather was extremely violent, his father was somewhat violent, and Neal wasn't violent at all unless pushed to the edge. At that rate, if Neal ever had kids then maybe they wouldn't even be any sort of criminals at all. It was a hopeful thought.

Neal continued, "You know my father had a big family, but we didn't. For being Irish Catholic we certainly didn't fit the norm – or the stereotype, whatever – I was an only child. My father…" Neal looked down at the table, trying to hide the hurt and anger in his eyes, but he wasn't fooling Peter, who thought back again to Neal's demeanor during the Burmese ruby case; he'd had such an anger and bitterness towards the diplomat-father they'd worked with that Peter had wondered what had happened with Neal's father. Now he was about to find out. Neal continued "…my father, George, was a Naval Cryptologic Officer. He was away from the time I was two until the time I was five. He was stationed at _Guantánamo_ , so he told my mom and me that Cuba was no place for us and that it was better for us here. I think he just didn't want us around so we wouldn't get in the way."

"In the way of what?" Diana asked.

"In the way of him finding other women." Neal said. "Well, that's what my mom would tell me. I think I was only about 5 years old when my mom started telling me how my dad was always running off to be with his whores."

Everyone in the room, except Dessa – since she had known this about Neal's father and mother already – had shocked looks on their faces at this. Peter especially couldn't believe that a woman would discuss such issues with her young son. "Your mom really said that kind of thing to you?" He asked Neal.

Neal nodded his head, "Oh yeah, all the time. She was real messed up, my mom. My father's affairs just drove her over the edge. She was a young mother, well, both my parents were young when they had me. They'd dated in high school, married when they were 18, and had me soon after. My father was her whole life and he treated her like dirt." Neal said the words with a snarl but he pushed on with his story.

"But she loved me," he said, "and I can remember she used to be normal and she'd take me to the park and museums and do things like that. But when she found out about my father's mistress – or one of them – she just lost it. My father was a womanizing prick and she couldn't deal with it, so she got addicted to narcotics. Later I figured out that Marty was the one supplying her." Neal scoffed as he remembered being angry with his mom when he was a kid. He'd hated her then. Hated her inability to stand up to his father, hated her inability to get him away from Marty, hated her depression and and stupidity. But as he got older, he realized that Marty had manipulated her. He'd manipulated everything.

Neal thought back to how Marty took advantage of the fact that his mother was clinically depressed and that his father was unfaithful and he'd given his mother pills – and she'd take anything and everything to suit her various moods and functions: tranques to calm her nerves, zombie pills to sleep, morph to calm her down even more, Black Beauties to speed up, even acid so she could make her reality go completely away. She became addicted easily. With those kind of drugs, especially prescription grade morphine, it only took once to trigger an addiction, and of course since they made her feel better, she embraced them without much of a struggle. And for Neal, well for him it meant that a sweet little boy grew up with an absent father and mother. And that little boy did what was natural and soaked up any attention he could – including from a friend of his father's who was ready to offer him the father he never had. Marty had played Neal like a prized Stradivarius.

"He gave your mother the drugs?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. I figured it out later that he did it to hook her, so that she'd be helpless and clueless. My father was gone and my mother was in no shape to notice what was going on; it was easy for Marty to get to me."

Jones, Diana, and Peter all simultaneously shook their heads in pity. Hearing Neal speak of his parents was like reading from the textbook of pedophile offenders. Sorlie had used classic grooming techniques to easily take advantage of a boy from a broken home.

Peter asked another question, "So when you were 5 years old your father came back?"

"He came home to Southie for a little while. But he didn't stay long. He moved us to St. Louis because he took a job…" Neal said.

"What kind of job?" Peter asked.

Neal paused, took a quick breath, and then let it out. "He was a Fed. He worked in the **Cryptanalysis and Racketeering Records Unit. From what I remember, he was assigned there because there was a serial killer on the loose who taunted the police with ciphers**** and they needed a code-breaker."**

**"****He worked for the CRRU?" Jones asked incredulously. He simply couldn't imagine ****someone related to Caffrey voluntarily working for the FBI. **

**"****Uh huh****. He'd gotten his citizenship by then and he was damn good at crypto. He was practically Newton when it came to code-breaking and Leibniz when it came to code-making." Peter and the other agents rolled their eyes at Neal's analogy, Mozzie chuckled softly, and Dessa appeared intrigued – calculus was a hobby of hers. Neal continued about his father "He taught me fairly advanced codes. He was so good, in fact, that he was poached by the NSA and that's where he probably still is today. The last time I saw him was when I was 11. He came home, packed his things, told my mother he was leaving and to do her job and take care of me, shook my hand and told me to man up and stop making up stories, and left."**

**Peter twitched when he thought of how many times he'd told Neal to 'man up' or to 'cowboy up'. "Okay so when does Sorlie come in? And when did you two meet?" He said, s****peaking to both Dessa and Neal. **

**Neal looked down and nervously picked at the nick in the table. Normally he was more collected and he paid close attention to whether his tells were showing. But the ghastly angst from the shrieking man in the table was beginning to really speak to him and he couldn't control his nerves. There was a scream rising up in his body that echoed Munch's famous expressionist subject. Neal swallowed hard and quelled his anxiety. He looked up at Peter from across the table and said, "I've known Marty ever since I can remember. He told me that my father had asked him to watch out for my mom and me when he was stationed abroad. See, my dad and Marty were friends. They'd gone to high school together and when they graduated, my dad went to the Navy and Marty went to the police academy. I remember before we moved to St. Louis he'd stop in once in a blue moon and check on us. He wasn't really in our lives very much though when I was real young. But he'd kept in contact and during the summer of my 7****th**** birthday, my mom and I flew back to Boston so she could go to her grandmother's funeral. Marty offered to take me off her hands because she didn't want me to go. That's when I met Dessa." Neal glanced over at his friend and gave her a smile. **

**"****Marty took us to a Red Sox game." Dessa said.**

**"****Yep, Sox vs. Yankees." Neal said. **

**"****Who won?" Peter asked. As a former baseball player he had a deep interest in these things, but this time he asked not because he really wanted to know who won the game, but in order to**** give Neal a break from the serious interrogation. **

**"****I don't know," Neal shrugged, "I… I was distracted." He bit his lip and looked at the man in the table again. **

**"****By Dessa?" Diana asked. The two lovers glanced at each other again and Diana was sure that it had to be Dessa that Neal was talking about. They made such a beautiful pair and beautiful couples, much like herself and Christie, made her smile. Diana was tough when it counted and usually a realist, but she was also kind and sensitive to those in pain, and right now she wanted to imagine Neal being distracted by no one other than his gorgeous friend. **

**"****No. Well, yes, I was distracted by her – I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. And I wasn't even into girls yet." Neal smiled with his eyes at the happy memory of meeting Dessa for the first time. She had been a shy girl with pretty green eyes and she'd had a red ribbon in her dark hair. It had made Neal think it was Christmas morning and he was one of those lucky kids from the movies who got just what they asked for. One of those kids who had two parents shining brightly with joy as they watched him tear open the wrapping paper. He remembered how Marty had picked him up from his great-grandmother's house in a sleek new Bentley and as he slid into the front seat, he'd tu****rned to look at the girl sitting in the back. **

**"****I remember sitting in the front seat and Dessa was in the back," Neal said, "and Marty said to me, 'Georgie' – I was still going by my first name then – 'say hello to my pretty little goddess.'" **

**Dessa winced at Neal's use of Marty's name for her and tears started to well up**** in her eyes. She didn't let them fall but everyone in the room noticed and turned their attention on her. **

**"****I'm sorry, Love****. I shouldn't have said that." Neal said. He immediately regretted telling the agents what Marty said to him in the car. For Dessa, just hearing the word 'goddess' was excruciating. **

**"****It's okay. I'm okay." Dessa said. **

**The agents looked at each other, baffled at her reaction. **

**"****Do you want to explain, or shall I, Des?" Neal asked.**

**"****You can." She replied. It would be too painful for her to try to say what was going on in her head right now.**

**"****You see Marty..." Neal started, "…Marty didn't have a name for Dessa. Not a real name. The only thing he called her was 'goddess'. She was "his one and only gorgeous little goddess". That's what he'd say. It's why I started calling her 'Dessa'.**

**Diana spoke up and tried to put her words as kindly as possible, "Dessa," she said, "we ran your name and it**** came up that you were arrested in '95 – " **

**Neal looked surprised and interrupted, "Arrested? For what?" **

**Dessa looked at the door like she was going to bolt but instead just sat quietly. **

**"****You don't know?" Peter asked Neal. **

**Neal shook his head, "No, we had lost contact for awhile there. I'd run away from Marty and I'd tried to get Dessa to come, but it didn't work out." That was an understatement. The night of his escape had been traumatic; he had just turned 16 and they were on their way back to Boston from DC. They'd been regularly flying to DC for the weekends because in the land of politicians, business for Marty ****was thriving. **

**"****Didn't work out?" Peter repeated. **

**"****We'd just landed at the airport in Boston and I couldn't take it anymore. The thought of driving back with Marty to Back Bay – where we'd been living for 3 years – I couldn't do it. I knew that more of the same was waiting for us and I had to make my move. As soon as we got off the plane I ran. I grabbed Dessa's hand and started running, but…" Neal trailed off. It had been one of the saddest moments of his life. **

**"****But what?" Diana asked.**

**Dessa answered for Neal, "I didn't run with him. Marty was just a few yards behind us and I couldn't move. I wanted to. I tried so hard but I was petrified. So I just stood there, and Cameron tried to physically ****drag me. But he looked at me and he could see I wasn't going to go. And I told him to run."**

**"****So I did." Neal finished the story. The guilt in his eyes overtook the pain that was already there, though the pain still managed to bore through. The effect was as if one had taken JMW Turner's "The Fighting Temeraire", rubbed shoe polish on it and then poked holes in it so that only glimmerings of the somber sunset, and not the azure sky nor white lighthouse nor tenacious ship, came through. **

**"****It's what you had to do, ****Cam. I was happy when you made it away. It was one of the happiest moments of my life." Dessa said. **

**"****And then I didn't see her for 4 years. I looked. After I met up with Mozzie," Neal said, turning to look at his friend and brother who had been sitting quietly next to him, "and when we moved to the city, we went back to Boston a few times to look, but I didn't find her until I was 20 year old. And by then she was in New York too." **

**"****Question," Peter said, "why were you spending weekends in DC?" He suspected the answer but he had to know. This could be a lead as to where Sorlie was now.**

**Neal and Dessa quickly touched hands under the table to give each other strength. "Marty had a lot of clients in DC, very wealthy clients." **

**Ah, Peter thought, there it was again – the knife was back and twisting in his heart deeper and deeper. "I see." **

**"****Des," Neal said, "what were you arrested for?" **

**Dessa looked away from him and sighed. "Turning tricks." She said. **

**Neal cringed when he thought about his girl**** having to put herself in such dangerous places in order to get money to survive. **

**"****About a year aft****er you got away Marty let me go," Dessa continued, "he just drove me to a random city – turned out to be Atlanta – pushed me out of the car, and left me there. And you know how it was Cam, I had no skills, no training in anything. I had half of a high school education and no name – "**

**"****Right," Diana jumped in, "that's what I was trying to say before, that on your record it lists your name as Dessa Sorlie, but that it was an alias, as you told the police that you didn't know your real name." **

**"****Yes, that's true. I have no idea what my real name is. I've been with Marty since I was ve****ry young. And he just called me 'goddess'. So I had no name, no id, no social security card, no skills, and no way to get a job. So what was I supposed to do? I was 17 and on the street. So I did what I could to make money."**

**"****We don't blame you, Dessa. You had to survive." Jones said, speaking up and addressing Dessa for the first time. He continued, "I just wish…" **

**"****What?" Dessa said.**

**"****I wish that you had been able to find a program made for homeless kids that could have helped you. And it's just terrible what happened to you – you could have been kidnapped by Marty, and your family could be nice people, maybe we could still find out, if you want I mean."**

**Dessa looked at Jones in surprise. He sounded so kind but without pity, so open yet strong of conviction. But in her experience, cops were anything but kind, so she didn't say anything back, and instead looked toward the door. Besides, she didn't like to think of such things. She used to think of it all the time when she was little. Did she have a family out there who missed her? Who even remembered her? But finding them was a pipe dream and she was an adult now who realized that. She had given up any notion of happy reunions years ago. Or rather, such notions had been beaten and ripped out of her. Hopelessness was necessary for a bearable life. **

**Dessa's thoughts prevented her from seeing her friend's reaction to Jones' words, and she missed Neal raising an eyebrow at the agent in annoyance. Neal liked and respected Jones but Dessa was HIS girl, and he didn't appreciate how Jones had been looking her. But as quickly as his jealousy came, it flitted through him. No, Neal thought, that wasn't fair of him. Dessa deserved a good man in her life, one that she could have a real relationship with that went beyond the friend/lover one that they had. She deserved her own Kate, and maybe Jones was it. **

**"****Dessa," Peter said slowly, gauging the words of what would be a painful question. "Do you know how you came to be with Martin? And… why he took you?" **

**Neal inhaled sharply.**

**"****I don't know how." Dessa said curtly****. She was trying her best to maintain her cool but was this line of questioning really necessary? What did it have to do with finding the little girl? **

**Jones seemed to read her mind and said quietly, "We're sorry to have to ask but any little thing helps. Maybe if we could figure out how he took you, then we can figure out how he took that little girl, and that could give us a clue to where he is."**

**Dessa nodded her head in understanding. "I really don't know though. I'm guessing either I was just a kid on the street somewhere and he got me to come with him, or he stole me from wherever I was. I wish I knew. As for the why… well, he was sick. That's a stupid term for it, but what can I say, he liked little girls and boys. I was 6 when he started doing stuff to me." **

**Peter, Diana, Jones, and Mozzie all held back their gag reflexes. Mozzie stood up and was going to leave the room, but then saw Neal's face and realized his friend needed him so he sat back down again. **

**"****Did he…?" Peter left off the rest of the question.**

**"****No, he didn't rape me then. He left that for one of his clients when I was 12. Did you know that some men will pay a lot of money to take a girl's…?" She left off the end, because she figured they'd know she was talking about virginity. Dessa continued on, "Apparently the evil bastard got nearly 20 grand for mine. And after he'd made that bank, I was fair game for Marty to have too." **

**Neal sunk his head into the crook of his elbows and put his hands through his hair. He didn't want to hear this stuff either, even though he knew all of it. **

**"****Neal…" Peter started, "buddy, is that what happened to you too?" Peter REALLY didn't want to know this, but he had to ask.**

**"****Yes." Neal said. "At the baseball game, when I was distracted, it was because it was the first time Marty had ever done anything. We were having fun and I felt like I was in a real family. Marty asked me if I wanted to make this a regular thing, hanging out. I told him yes and that's when he promised he'd always make time for me. And then he spilled his soda on my lap and used napkins to wipe it up. It looked like an accident but even then I knew it felt wrong." Neal started to shudder slightly as the words he spoke became a flashback. He hadn't had one in quite some time and he thought maybe he was finally rid of them. Not so. His eyes glazed as he relived the scene, and then his mind flashed forward to when he was 12 and one of Marty's clients had paid handsomely for Neal. The violence of that image was enough to cause him to shake. Mozzie recognized a flashback when he saw one and he knew he had to snap his friend out of it. He grabbed Neal's shoulder and patted it gently, and at the same time he yelled loudly "NEAL!" Neal stopped shaking and he blinked his eyes. He immediately calmed as he realized he wasn't in a basement bedroom with a strange man but instead in the familiar setting of the FBI conference room. **

**"****Thanks Mozz." Neal said quietly. Mozzie took Neal's head against his chest and squeezed Neal's shoulders briefly in a bear-hug. During the flashback Neal had broken out in a cold sweat and he pawed at the collar of his shirt so as to pull it away from his damp neck. Neal was embarrassed and tired and he didn't know how much more of this he could take. **

**"****Suit," Mozzie said wearily, "I think everyone could use a break, don't you?" **

**Peter nodded his head yes. On the one hand he didn't really want to break because he was still focused on the little girl, but then, he did want to break because his friend and his friend's friend absolutely needed one. He looked at Neal and Dessa and they both looked like they were becoming more and more distraught. "You're right, Mozzie. We should take a break." Peter said. Unfortunately, he would have to continue asking Neal tough questions, but for now, for the sake of Neal's and Dessa's health, it was indeed break-time. **

**"****Diana," Peter said, "contact the DC office and see if their Crimes Against Children Unit knows anything about Sorlie or where he'd prostitute a child there. Neal, one more question, and I'm sorry to have to ask this," Diana nodded and walked briskly out of the room.**

**Neal picked his up from the table, where he'd laid it down a few moments ago. **

**"****do you know where your mother is?" Peter finished.**

**Neal shook his head in a firm 'no' and put his head back down.**

**"****Okay thanks buddy. Jones, run a check on…" Peter stopped when he realized he didn't know Neal's mother's first name. "Neal what's your mother's name?"**

**Neal picked his head up again and this time kept it up. "Aideen. Aideen **Ó'Néill**. Her maiden name was **Byrne. Why are you looking for my mother?" Jones had the information and he'd walked out of the room, and now Neal was concerned. He loved his mother and had done his best to forgive her but there was still a lot of bitterness there. He didn't want to find her or know where she was.

"I was thinking…" Peter started, "I was thinking that maybe your mother still has contact with Sorlie. Maybe he still supplies her. I don't know if he did that just to get to you, and now he's stopped, or if he's still doing it. It's a long shot but maybe she'll know something. Look if we find her, I promise we'll keep you out of it if you don't want to see her. She doesn't have to know you're here."

Neal nodded and stood up slowly, as if he was carrying a bag of bricks on his back. He needed the restroom and a walk outside. Dessa and Mozzie stood up too and all three started to walk out of the room.

"Neal, Dessa," Peter said, "Thank you. Everything you've said is something that can help us find Sorlie and save that girl." They both doubted that but they'd take it. Neal knew Peter felt bad about this, that he didn't want to have to ask him these questions, so he sighed and gracefully said, "You're welcome, Peter."

"Take some time, we'll reconvene in a half hour if that's okay." Peter said. He turned to Mozzie and gave him a look of thanks and another one that silently told him to take care of Neal. Mozzie needed no such reminder but in acknowledgment, he quickly lifted his chin a centimeter and put it down. He, alongside Neal and Dessa, walked out of the conference room and out of the office doors. Neal had his hands in his pockets, his head lifted, and he walked with his typical swagger, portraying to the other agents in the office that he was still the one and only Neal Caffrey. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

**I apologize for my very long absence, everyone. The chapters still aren't going to be put up in any timely manner, but I'm still going to finish this story. I did get a little annoyed that the show did things that I was going to bring into my story, such as the Irish Mob thing, because that's what I was going to say Marty was into. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that the writers and I think alike…**

**Also remember that this takes place after season 3.**

Chapter Twelve

Neal, Mozzie, and Dessa sat down at a café that was near the Federal building. Named "NOLA", it was trendy and marketed itself as "New York-Orleans". Neal and Mozzie had never been to the place but it was one of Dessa's favorites. Mozzie briefly wondered if there was a conspiracy happening to try to get him to move to Louisiana – first he'd had to talk to Brick the blonde-Louisianan bouncer, and now he was in a wannabe-Café du Monde.

"You know," spoke Dessa, "I lived in New Orleans for almost a year."

"Really?" Mozzie answered. "I didn't know that. Did you like it?"

"I have wonderful memories from that place. It was average, you know. Most people shudder at the thought of living an average life, but to me, average is about the most beautiful thing in the world. I had a real job and a real apartment. I met a lady there who took me in once I told her how I'd run from Atlanta. She was kind. She called me 'Young lady.' She gave me a job sweeping up at the beauty shop she owned and she let me stay with her until I made enough money until I could afford my own place. I loved that job. She paid me cash under the table and it was nice, being among all women."

Dessa sighed happily at her memories. It wasn't that she disliked her job as a dancer – on the contrary, she loved it. The power she had over men, and the power she kept by denying their desires was a rush. But there was something calming about having a job where she didn't have to dress up or do anything that had anything to do with men. Just putting her head down and working hard had its charm. "I had to get a second job as a custodian at a spa to pay my rent, but it was worth it. I worked unglamorous jobs and I worked them all the time, but it was worth it to live on my own. No men to take what I worked hard for and no men to hold me down." Dessa looked out the window of the café out towards the street. "And I loved walking down Royal Street where all the art galleries are. I avoided Bourbon Street like the Plague but Royal… that was a beautiful place."

"So why did you ever leave?"

"The lady I told you about – Mrs. Williams – she died. Nothing tragic, just old age, but I didn't want to stay there anymore after that. And I wanted to come find Cam."

At that, Mozzie and Dessa turned to look at their friend. "Neal?" Mozzie said.

Neal was staring off into space. He looked old, Mozzie thought. The 34-year-old looked, at the moment, like a 60-year-old who happened to have the hair of a 20-something-year-old. At his friend's query Neal snapped out of his daze and turned his attention to the man sitting across the table from him. "Yeah?"

"Nothing really, I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Mozzie said.

"I'm…" Neal was cut off by the server coming to take their order.

"Are y'all ready?" She asked. Neal thought he detected the real accent. She wasn't a New Yorker trying to fake a "y'all".

"Uh.." Neal and Mozzie both said. They hadn't even looked at the menu yet.

"Three coffees please, Nola style." Dessa spoke up. The server nodded and hurried off to get their order.

"What's 'Nola style'?" Neal asked.

"It's chicory coffee – absolutely delicious and yet another thing I loved about that city."

Neal and Mozzie shrugged as if to tell her that they trusted her judgment. The next few minutes passed by in comfortable silence; Neal sat with his two best friends and enjoyed the richness of his unusual coffee. He glanced toward the window and saw a cloud in his peripheral. He turned to look at it fully and he saw that it resembled a painting easel turned on its side so that its three legs pointed toward the west. He smiled and remembered that it was Mozzie who'd first gotten him into painting. The poor man had to act as essentially a father or older brother for the first year that they'd lived together. Every time Neal had woken up screaming from a nightmare or flashback, Mozzie had patiently taken out supplies so that he could paint. "Hey Mozz, do you remember the first thing I painted for you?"

"Yeah, it was a mountain, right?"

"Yeah, the Himalayas, with Tibetan prayer flags as the focus. I always wanted to go to Tibet or Bhutan or Nepal or India. Someone – one of my teachers I think it was – told me that people thought that's where Shangri-La was. I remember I'd asked what Shangri-La was and she said it was a hidden, happy place where everyone was kind and sweet and safe, and where there was no pain or fear or anything that wasn't good. I used to want to go there so bad."

"That's right," Mozzie said, "a Neal Caffrey original. There aren't too many of those lying around." Mozzie hid the pain from his voice when he thought of how hopeful Neal had been all those years ago. He'd come home from high school all excited and told him that he wanted them both to move to Shangri-La. Mozzie had laughed, not realizing that Neal was being serious. He didn't realize that Neal didn't understand that it wasn't real. Neal had looked crushed at his laughter, and once Mozzie had stopped and explained that Shangri-La was a made-up place, Neal had turned away, dejected, and gone to bed. A few hours later and he was screaming and thrashing about. Mozzie had woken up his young friend and told him, "Things become real, in a way, when we make art out of them. Some people make music, other people dance, and some people like to paint. Would you like to do one of those things to make Shangri-La real?" And Neal had chosen to paint.

"Do you think we can get there someday?" Dessa asked, sounding hopeful.

"It doesn't exist, Love." Neal said, gently. "It's a myth." Neal almost echoed what Mozzie had told him all those years ago.

But Dessa wasn't a child and she understood that Shangri-La wasn't a real place. "That's not what I was asking, Cam." She shook her head with a wistful smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Shangri-La," Dessa said, "can exist for us if we make it so. We can get to a place that safe and sweet and kind. Don't you think?"

Neal understood now. She was talking about their tortured minds. But even then – or especially then – Neal didn't know if his mind could ever be un-tortured. If it could ever find a place to rest like the one she described. He didn't know, so he twisted his mouth to one side and lifted a shoulder up and down. Dessa looked sad with the answer he gave so he added, "My brother once told me that in art we make the things in our heads real;" he sent a grateful smile Mozzie's way, "We bring them to life by what we do… by the art we create."

"I've always wanted to learn how to play the cello." Dessa said.

"That's perfect!" Mozzie said, and Neal smiled.

Maybe, Dessa thought, one day she would.

Neal checked his watch and saw that the half hour break they'd been given had whittled away. It was a nice feeling. Instead of the seconds ticking by like hours, as they'd done in the conference room, the half hour had been an oasis where time wasn't felt. "It's time to go back."

"You know," Dessa started, "you boys go on ahead. I want to stay here awhile longer, if that's okay. If you need me I'll come, but if you don't, I 'd rather stay here."

"Sure," Neal said, "take a break, definitely. I'll be okay as long as Mozzie is with me. If you decide to come back later, give me a call and Peter will send someone down to the lobby to get you."

Neal stood up from the table, put a $20 down and leaned over to give Dessa a tender kiss on the forehead. "You ready, Mozz?"

Mozzie nodded. "Are you?"

"Ready as ever, I guess." Neal said.

The two men left the café and started the walk back to the FBI. The cloud that looked like a painting easel followed them, but as they got closer to the building, Neal glanced up and saw that it had changed form. Instead of a painting easel on its side, it was now a semi-auto rifle complete with laser, scope, and picatinny rail.


End file.
